


More than the Wealth in Your Hands

by silusaugustus



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29880555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silusaugustus/pseuds/silusaugustus
Summary: Six months have passed since the NCR took the Dam, definitively.  Caesar punished his second in command with death, and now in the wake of the loss his troops remain unsteady.Silus, always the half-forgotten stepchild, concocts a plan to avoid death for his century and get back in the dictator's favor.  He's found a woman to keep ransom.  Someone of value.But the desert has other plans...
Relationships: Female Courier/Silus
Kudos: 1





	1. The Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a roleplay between myself and another author. Hence it's a dual-written piece, sorry if that's disorienting.

**_> 2277_ **

**_Six months after the Battle of Hoover Dam_ **

**_South of Carson City_ **

**SILUS**

The weathered Centurion's face was curled up in its familiar snarl; he was glaring down a Legion scout, a man who looked at least three times as hungry as the small band of soldiers. The scout was now edging backward, wary of the wrath of Silus.

"And MY CENTURY is to be the one punished For our SURVIVAL "

"Caesar states," the scout began, stuttering as the officers behind Silus milled about silently, "That the mission was a failure. He does not...he does not anticipate your return to Legion territory."

"And why is that " The brunette's chest was puffed out and his large plumed helmet glinted off the angry Mojave sun. He did not look as though he'd recently lost a battle. He rather looked as though he were about to conquer a small village. The anger in his eyes was palpable.

"The 80 is...infested. Raiders and tribals. It seems..." the scout paused here, turning to look down the familiar, traveled road, "It seems even we have lost several caravans in the last week. That was radioed to me."

Silus set his jaw. "Perfect," he grumbled, staring east on the dry, empty patch of broken interstate. They were still in Nevada, the "failed mission" an attempt at conquering one of the larger outlaw groups that camped outside of Carson City. Silus had taken along his best men, along with another Centurion--that century had not been so lucky. The tribals were openly hostile and led Caesar's warriors into an ambush, Carson City locals, most of whom were NCR supporters, happy to join the bloodshed.

"Has Caesar sent reinforcements to the road?" This was Marius, Silus's right hand Decanus. He put his hands on his hips, his face hidden by the feathered mask, as the scout ruefully shook his head.

"No sir," and now another nervous glance at Silus, who was glaring, "He says what trade we had was not worth more Legion lives. We are to abandon it."

"You do realize," Silus said lamely, blinking, "That he means you should die out here as well."

"I was given permission to come alone. I don't have to stay with..." he stared behind the Centurion at the battered men. "With...you. Frumentarius Inculta told me that if I stay to the East Mountains and watch the road from afar, I can make it, because I'm only one person and I can travel hidden, unlike a Legion squad."

Silus nodded slowly, the red plumes rising and falling in the dry air. The scout wasn't sure if Silus was grinning or grimacing, but the Centurion spoke shortly afterward.

"A wise plan. So you get back to the Fort in one piece and we get to be overran by profligates out here on the Interstate."

The scout said nothing, simply staring back at the taller man.

"Or," Silus continued, in a more upbeat voice, as he unholstered a sawed-off shotgun and held it almost comically to the side, "OR...better idea?"

He lowered the weapon and fired it at the scout's midsection; the pepper sprays dotted the dust behind the pair and the explosion of guts that spilled forward--Silus counted colon, kidneys, pancreas, and stomach, before the rush of blood from the torn aorta blackened the rest of the cavity. The scout barely had time to stutter before he crumpled to his knees, his torso folding backward under the lack of support from his now torn muscle.

As he thudded to the pavement Silus swung, holstering the shotgun and squinting at Marius. "OR. We take Nevada 95 and cut down from there."

Marius shook his head, undeterred by the violence he'd just witnessed, but now he was pacing as he looked south. The Fort. How would they get there with no backup support

"We haven't heard anything about 95 in the last three months."

"Exactly," Silus mused, crossing his arms, the large Brotherhood of Steel pauldron hot against his chest. "It's abandoned."

"It's too close to the Divide. That’s why," Marius argued. He pointed toward the south horizon ominously. "Nobody goes in there and gets out alive."

"We'll flank the road. Nowhere near Death Valley Junction. There's plenty of dead space, miles of it."

"You know that's where they say that damned red cloud shows up though. The one that people disappear in." A hush fell over the men, all of whom were superstitious, and several wary looks were exchanged.

Silus snorted, his nostrils flaring, and he began to nonchalantly walk forward, stepping into a pile of intestines as he did so. "Next thing you're going to tell me, is that you got that pistol from The Burned Man, after he floated right out of the Grand Canyon."

* * *

**_> Somewhere near Tonopah, Nevada_ **

The entire affair left a bitter taste in his already bitter mouth. Silus was wholly silent as he and his men trekked across the forlorn highway, only pausing to gather food, or take down the occasional gecko or--more interestingly, a deathclaw--Caesar had abandoned them. He'd heard of it happening to other convoys, to other Legion squads, he'd lost good soldiers to a few of these failed missions.

But to actually be abandoned? To have the guts to send a fucking scout out and basically send a gloat-notice about a century's certain death? It was cold, even for the dictator. Silus was pissed. He didn't think of the other men, the other Centurion. It did no good. It served no purpose. They were gone. But the mission itself needed contemplating-the idea was stupid. Barely six months ago the Legion had lost the Dam, and were still licking their wounds, truth be told.

There weren't men and resources to go door-knocking for Legion recruits all the fucking way up in Carson City. That place crawled with NCR, and Caesar knew it. Not only that, but his "headaches" were the reason Silus sat holed up in a desert cave for four days, instead of acting when he had the chance--they could have seized the entire camp upon arrival, but thanks to the distance and Caesar's ridiculous protocols, they were stuck waiting on a scout, then sending a report to a broken radio tower...by that time, the tribals had already caught on.

It's impossible to hide a squad in a barren, sandy mountain.

It was bullshit, the whole thing, in other words. Silus was tired. 

All he wanted was to be back at the Fort. And that probably wouldn't even happen. Just then Marius fell into step with his Centurion, the mask hiding him from Silus's view.

"My lord."

Silus grunted in response. Marius understood the grunt. In a less formal tone, he mused, "How do you think we will be punished?"

Silus's green eyes cut toward the horizon. "I will take your punishment. It was my decision to return this way. I'm certain Caesar will hear of us before we arrive though...once we get far enough east, we'll find the Frumentarii. Or they will find us."

"Maybe Caesar will be impressed with our resilience," Marius said hopefully.

"Maybe." Silus had his doubts. He was lucky enough that Caesar saw him personally slaughter half a dozen NCR Rangers sans bullets (chainsaws cut through the armor like butter) half a year ago at the Dam. On a day when the dictator's ego was crushed more than it ever had been, he rewarded the most impressive Legionaries. The whole camp was abuzz with the rumor that Silus was to be put in the arena. Fight for Praetorian, the position he'd longed for since becoming a Centurion.

But how he'd gone to that prestigious rumor, to being left for dead in northern Nevada in less than a year, was anyone's guess.

Just as he considered telling his loyal Decanus to shut the fuck up and get back in line, Silus turned on the road, staring at the horizon. The long broken highway ran east to west, and on the south horizon the Mojave stretched out for ever, flat and orange. To the north, behind Silus, the once-mountains had been blown into buttes and sandy hills, and farther beyond that the jagged peaks of the Humboldt National Forest.

But something was wrong on that southern horizon.

He squinted again. "Red."

"Sir?"

Several men paused, all warily following the Centurion's gaze, some hesitantly drawing weapons in case his pause in step was due to a Deathclaw or raider sighting.

"Don't you see it there? The red above the horizon."

One of the younger officers spoke up. "I see it."

"Holy shit, what is that?"

Silus knew what it was. He simply didn't want to believe. Now he forced himself to snap into action, flinging the pack he carried on one shoulder over his head, pulling the strap to tighten it toward his chest. Now he was running, off the highway and north.

"What is it?" one called.

"Dust storm," he bellowed, feeling his voice echo from the nearby sand dunes. Now he was running haphazardly through the loose red gravel, the road abandoned, his eyes on the mountains. They'd never make it to the mountains before the storm reached them, but the higher ground, the better.

"How much time?" Dust storms were not uncommon in Arizona, where the Legion originated, but most of these men had been recruited in Nevada and Utah, where the sights were rare at best. Lucky day.

"Maybe half an hour."

"But it's so far away." One of the Legionaries turned and paused, and another by his side. "We have time to make it to town."

"Town?" Silus actually paused in climbing a short mesa to turn and stare, stupefied, at his own men's idiocy. "Are you hoping to pick up a glass of Brahmin milk and a fucking cookie? Town?!"

"There's actual SHELTER there," the Legionary argued.

Silus pointed in the direction of Tonopah. "That settlement was abandoned twenty years ago. Whatever leftover wood and nails were dry-rotted before the fucking bombs fell, if the raiders haven't gotten to the houses yet for scrap. You won't find anything there."

"There has to be at least one concrete building in the place," the younger man argued, and Silus rolled his eyes so violently that he almost blinded himself.

"And no broken windows, naturally."

This gave the other man pause, and he seemed to be struggling for words when Silus turned and continued climbing, and Marius barked, "Silence! We follow the Centurion."

"Going up into the dusty mountains during a dust storm is a stupid idea," the impudent soldier stated, setting his feet apart as though he were going to be pulled away by force. The other men looked uneasily back at Silus, who now poked his head over the ledge he'd climbed on. To everyone's surprise, he shrugged.

"Fine. Do what you want. I'm done wasting time."

It was there that the company separated; Marius and two others flanked Silus up the butte, and the others turned and ran toward the abandoned settlement in the far distance. No one heard Silus as he muttered in Latin, cursing the morons for wasting his precious time, but shortly thereafter the soldier found a deep crevice in the red clay. He kicked at the rock, making certain the ledge was sturdy, then began to unpack. First he tossed his helmet under the alcove, which was perhaps four feet high and six feet deep. Then he withdrew goggles from his bag and began to wrap his face and head with a Legionary balaclava. The dust wasn't bad yet, because the wind hadn't hit them, but it would soon. 

He did not look back at the cloud often. It was coming toward them, and growing in height. Now it was perhaps ten minutes away, and at least 150 feet high. For a moment he craned his neck to look down the hill at the road and could have sworn he saw a form down there...deathclaw or otherwise, it was an unlucky creature whose life was most certainly about to end.

He could see the lightning within the churning red and orange dust, the flashes and flickers, followed by ominous grumbles and shakes. The men all removed their capes and extra fabric, tying them together in a makeshift tarp and stringing rope and heavy rocks around the border. It wasn't much, but it would hopefully keep the bulk of the silica out. Silus had watched men die whose lungs filled with the wet dust of a sandstorm. It was a disgusting and dishonorable way to go. He'd rather be crucified.

But, as he squirmed into the miserably small crawl space, followed by the other three officers, he mused that he might be crucified either way. 

That is, if he survived this fucking storm. 

* * *

FINCH

Sand and dust had begun to successfully tuck itself within the hidden openings of her clothing. Clothing, that she had hoped, would have been enough to keep the fucking sand out, but of course nothing goes exactly according to plan anytime she is out in the Wasteland. The goggles and respirator mask the young woman wore were beginning to crust with the wet sand that had begun to batter her form. What skin that was showing (namely a tiny portion of her cheeks) was a deep pink and becoming raw from the abuse, shelter had become top priority and luckily for her this valley was ripe with nooks and crannies to take refuge in. She just needed to move faster, any longer out in the storm and she'd be done for. Plus she only had two of air cartridges left for the respirator. Time was, literally, of the essence.

The damn storm had reached her faster than expected. She barely had time to retrieve her mask before the wind picked up with a cooler temperature. Reaching actual housing seemed possible up until the point of literally being swept off her feet by a strong gust of wind. This had motivated her to run as fast as she was able, the pack on her back painfully jabbing against her with the force of her running. Her feet ached from her non-stop trek from The Strip and her wound she toted around from an earlier confrontation needed new dressings before infection has a chance to fester. Finch couldn't afford to dawdle any longer, she realized, as her aching limbs made a bee-line for the red crag rocks of one butte a few yards ahead of her. Holding a steady foot once she began climbing proved to be more difficult than anticipated; her foot slipped a few times as she ascended up the incline, causing her heart to jump into her throat before steadying herself to continue on.

"You should bring a guard along with you. It's dangerous out there. The Mojave is too dangerous now-a-days for lone travelers, let alone a tiny woman."

"I'm not tiny. Besides, the Mojave always was dangerous. The wastes beyond is always dangerous. Even New Reno has always been dangerous. Nothing lately has changed that." The young woman offered the older man a smile before he turned and walked back down the hall. The blond took a bite of the questionable shish-kebab meat they had made for lunch; the odd taste did nothing to stave off her wandering mind.

Her eyes scanned over the scattered pile that was her belongings. She still had to pack, tonight would be her last night here and she of course waited for the last minute to pack. Once finishing the crispy food, Finch huffed before standing to gather her things lying about the room. To accuse her of not being able to handle the Wastes herself? It was an insult, if she'd ever heard one. Mr. Bishop has sent her out alone plenty of times. He was never worried she may not make it back, and he was her father! "I've done this more times than I care to count, old man." She reiterated herself, now that the older man was no longer I earshot. "I can handle it."

She almost let a tired laugh escape at the thought of her confidence in an uneventful trip back home. Finch cursed her luck, this anomaly was hardly common. Thankfully, Finch was able to claw her way up a ledge to shimmy across, once spotting a crevice on down a ways. The rock beneath her didn't give way, luckily, under her weight while her frame slid along the ledge carefully, letting her hands graze the rock wall behind her as she approached the small opening. Reaching her hand in, she pulled herself as far as she could into its entrance only to be stopped by red fabric jury-rigged to the rocks.

Finch stared in bewilderment for a moment before understanding she was not the only one that needed shelter from the storm. A curse escaped her, the thought of drawing her gun passed through her before she was hit with the strongest gust of wind she had felt yet. Abandoning her cautious nature she pushed aside the fabric, attempting to keep it as functional as possible, and entered the tight crevice. The blonde heard the sound of movement as soon as she entered, her eyes had yet to adjust behind the goggles but she could roughly make out three figures... Or maybe it was four? Fuck's sake, she was too exhausted, too sore, and too done with this day to deal with another ambush. This time she did withdraw a weapon, an especially dangerous one in a cramped place like this.

With a small clink a grenade was held in her hand, the pin pulled and the lever held in place to keep it from detonating. Or so they would think, this one was actually a dud she kept as a just-in-case plan b. This absolutely qualified as such. Finch held her hand out towards the men for them to see it, her eyes adjusting enough to recognize at least a gender. Inhabitants of the Wasteland, mostly men, tend to listen to a young girl a little more thoroughly when she holds an 'armed' explosive.

"Gentlemen." The respirator distorter the girl's voice as she spoke. The other hand came up in front of her, motioning for the men to stay put. "Lovely weather we're having today. Please, don't get up. Or we'll all be dead." The young woman nodded to the grenade. Finally she was beginning to see their faces and the strange garb they wore. And of course they were Legion. Fuck me. There were not any tricks packed away in her bag that'd possibly get her out of this without being shackled and dragged back to their camp, that much was a guarantee. From what she heard the Legion doesn't exactly hold charming females in high respect, so this little stunt, if she can even get away the dust storm shit, she wasn't going anywhere and neither where they. She was trapped between an angry storm and ruthless slavers, underneath rocks and clay. The irony was not lost upon her. 

"Alright, let's talk. I don't know a lot beyond what's said about men like you. Honestly, didn't even know y’all traveled this far west. Finding Legion here has never been a worry I had to face until now. So hopefully we can come to some sort of mutual understanding?" Finch glanced at the men, reading their reactions. "Everyone can walk out of this storm alive... and preferably not enslaved."

* * *

** SILUS  **

Not a moment too soon did they scurry into the little canyon shelf, the sturdy Legion fabric--woven by slaves in Arizona and shipped to Nevada in caravans--holding up surprisingly well in the onslaught. Silus could see nothing but a faint red glow, the sun blotted out by red dust, and the oranges and reds of the blankets emanating their own dark maroon shadows. Of course, between the goggles and his balaclava his vision was already limited. 

Not long after the full force of the storm hit, causing the tarp to cave in, then violently flutter against the rows of Legionary armor pinning it to the ground on the inside, Silus could feel the dust sifting through his mask. 

"How much water do we have?" he called over the roar of the storm, the last word lost on a loud clap of thunder, which blasted like a cannon and rumbled slowly over Marius's reply: "Barely three bottles."

"Christ," Silus lamented, as one of the other Legionaries coughed. "Well, three bottles isn't going to save our ass any better than this shelter." 

He motioned for the knapsack and tossed a bottle to each of his men. "Wet your facemasks," he instructed, and with a mix of disdain and sorrow he watched as the filtered water was emptied slowly over the fabric, wetting each cloth to better insulate from dust. The men could breathe easier now, so the water wasn't wasted, but assuming they made it out in one piece, they now had even bigger problems to worry about.

Each of the officers refastened their face shields and handed the leftovers of their bottle to their Centurion. At one time he would have been touched by the gesture, would have felt proud of the symbolism of his sacrifice and their gratitude. But now he silently poured the water over his own cloth and refastened it, breathing deeply through his nose, enjoying the absence of dust.

Another loud crash of thunder drowned out the sound of rocks sliding around them, but Silus tilted his head; a shadow moved outside the tarp and he reached for his machete. It was probably a lost animal scrambling for its life, breathing its last breaths of sand-infested air, but he tensed at the sight of two limbs--long, human legs, not a coyote or nightstalker. 

"Outside," he said simply, now clutching the handle of the machete, feeling completely unprotected as the cool blade touched his bare thigh. The men had stripped down to their togas in order to use every bit of metal as a barricade (and because sand under steel was ten times as unpleasant as sweat under steel) and though Silus was probably still deadly to any range of humans while he was donning a red toga and cloth sandals, he felt like a cornered naked mole rat with one snaggly tooth.

The other men tensed, likewise withdrawing their melee weapons, and in an instant the tarp was pushed aside, sand billowing into the small enclosure. The two men nearest scrambled behind the figure who'd entered, to push the fabric closed and re-tie the knots, as Silus glared behind goggles and a facemask at--

"SON OF A---"

\--was that a woman? 

He hadn't seen a female in so long (not counting the tribals he'd maimed a few weeks ago, but who counted those?) that the shorter, petite figure and Wasteland clothes tight around a significantly different set of hips and torso was completely alien to him. He stared rather stupidly for a moment, wondering if it WAS a woman...maybe a child. It wore a respirator, and now held an active grenade.

She was talking. So it was a woman, he realized, blinking behind the goggles. Silus's stare was so confused and perplexed it was as though a radroach had put on a top hat and started tap dancing in front of him. He struggled to focus on her words. What was a woman doing out here? A wastelander? He squinted, and eyed the grenade. Her gloved hand was clamped down tightly on the little greenish egg, and Silus narrowed his eyes at the threat. 

It was a mark of the strange situation Silus's men found themselves in that none of them sneered, or threatened to call her bluff and attack her anyway-- the Legion was not privy to bargaining with, or offering shelter, to anyone--yet they remained silent, four sets of covered eyes trained on the grenade and its holder. Marius's head tilted slightly toward Silus, and somehow that broke his spellbound silence.

"Or I could kick you off the fucking ledge and let that thing blow you into crispy squirrel bits after you get swept up in a tornado," he said lamely, sitting upright, and nonetheless dropping his blade. The other Legionaries sidled as well, restless, but Silus truly had no desire to risk getting blown up-- sure, he could kick her out, and then open up the entire tarp, and sure, maybe she wouldn't react quickly enough to drop the grenade before she fell, and hell, maybe it was a decoy--but what did it matter?

He yanked down the balaclava just as a peal of thunder rattled the rock, bits of red dust dislodging and rolling down the cliff wall, raining down into Silus's dark locks. 

"I am Silus," he said in the same lame tone, any pride in his rank or status in the Legion long gone. He gestured to his men. "My legionaries. Get rid of the fucking grenade and you might even live through the dust storm." He hoped his flared nostrils and glare were visible in the dark light, and from behind his goggles. 

* * *

** FINCH **

It was amusing to witness the different reactions of the small group of men. The one who seemed to assume a leadership role (and, of course, the most intimidating slaver) seemed to be struggling with the disbelief of her appearance in the extremely small ass cave for longer than she expected. Sadly, he quickly switch to an obvious rage faster than the time a person has before ten Cazador stings kill him. His men seemed to be stuck in between confusion and shock. They were just as in awe as she was at the chance other forms of life wandered out in this dust storm and survived. Finch found it even more bizarre to run into the very copycats, of an old and long since failed empire, she keeps hearing so much about. The blonde wished she could afford to laugh in their faces, really, it was just so humorous how she runs out of luck.

_"Or I could kick you off the fucking ledge and let that thing blow you into crispy squirrel bits after you get swept up in a tornado."_

Holy shit, she was a dead woman if this doesn't stop them from retaliating. The blonde could almost feel the immense pain these men could inflict for just tricking them. Having these men give their word could mean nothing. It was a high risk to take, but she had no other choice. Stepping on eggshells around them, is the perfect metaphor. One wrong move or slip and it ends here. New Reno has never been so far away than in this moment.

"Now, that's just not very nice, b--sir." Jesus fucking Christ, she almost called a slaver a pet name and was pleading for them to not give her a reason to kill them. Finch convinced herself she had a death wish with her lack of a verbal filter. Movement from the men caused the blonde to draw out her pistol and aimed at each one, before making the realization they were dropping their weapons. Finch may jumped the gun in assuming they were going to attack, but it was safer for her to be wary than not at all. One never knew with strangers.

"Officers." Silus seemed to be as friendly as an aggravated deathclaw, with an unusual streak of rationality. Thankfully. Finch had pretty much feared the worst for a moment, almost seeing herself gutted and thrown from the rocks down into the bowels of the dust storm. So this was a pleasant surprise in the turn of events. She may just live to see (at least for now) the next day at the furthest.

Her arms eased up and she let them fall to her sides, gun and dud in hand. "Luckily for you," Finch began and then slowly slipped the dud grenade in a pocket of the jacket she wore; she holstered her pistol, as well. The swift motion had caused pain to rake across the side of her ribcage, reminding her of the wound that needed attention. "I will not be sacrificing my pretty hair for anybody, today." Her green eyes scanned over the Legionaries, wary of the possibility of their retaliation. Quick thinking was the only way to get them to listen to her.

"Look, it's just a precaution. Nothing personal. I had no real intention of tricking anyone... Hell, I didn't think there would be an anyone way the fuck out here…" Finch's eyes watched Silus and his officers carefully beneath the goggles. "But I didn't think y’all would be willing to listen to what I have to say, otherwise. We can work something out. A deal, rather. I scratch your back you scratch mine?” The young woman laughed at her own choice in metaphors before wincing in pain. Honestly though, Finch was hilarious.

* * *

** SILUS  **

His shielded eyes moved down to her hand again, even as he watched his men shuffle restlessly behind him. Though Silus's men showed more restraint than the standard Legion recruit, they were nonetheless taken aback at his brazen trust in a lowly woman. It was almost humorous, he thought as an aside, that they would consider this treachery--Silus had undergone much more intimate endeavors with several free women in his many years as a Legionary...but of course, all that was secret. And besides, it was all in the past.

_"Now, that's just not very nice, b--- eh, sir."_

His green eyes narrowed even further as he caught the near-slip. He now sensed an accent or cadence with her words that suggested she was a city-dweller. People in Vegas, or Phoenix, or even New Canaan, spoke more quickly than your average desert dweller or Goodsprings Brahmin-poke. But the nearest city was New Vegas, and it was no light journey from here. What was she doing all alone? Silus was so busy scrutinizing the stranger that he didn't bother to wonder what she covered up with the hasty 'sir.' 

But then she ruined it by putting the grenade in her pocket, and now Silus bared his teeth as though she were a blind gecko that had waddled into a wolf den. His men all noticed the slide of the pistol as she put it away, and several of them writhed in the direction of their weapons, one exclaiming, " _Vacca stulta_!"

" _Fatue_..." muttered another, reaching for a knife within his boot. 

She was still speaking rapidly, now seeming to accept her error, but the words were empty, full of fear--something the Legionaries were used to hearing.

"We can work something out. A deal, rather. I scratch your back you scratch mine?"

Marius roared angrily from behind Silus, _“I alioquin interficiam te!"_

" _Tacete_!" the Centurion snarled, drawing out the _tah-chey_ unnecessarily to show his discontent. He would not stand for his men succumbing to their emotional bloodlust, even when it was warranted--now he turned to them, the blind gecko forgotten, and spoke rapidly in Latin to the men. 

" _Control your weak urges, you fools! If you brawl in here we are not only without water, but GAIN lungs full of dust_!" As though to punctuate his threat, a huge flash of light illuminated the dark red cave, showing the covered Legionaries crouched in half-defense, half-attack postures, and now Silus removed his goggles as the flash dissipated and a loud clap of thunder shook the mountainside. " _There is no worse way to die than of thirst, choking on rocks. Do not be foolish and risk your lives over pride_."

In Latin, Brutus responded warily, _"Centurion. To speak to a woman. To let her sit among us as equals. It defies the will of Caesar."_

" _It also defies the will of Caesar for us to live to see home again_ ," Silus said in a low tone, and this sobered the men into submission. He turned back to the girl, noticing by her posture that she seemed to be injured. Some nuanced body language was ...off. 

He squinted, but as he opened his mouth to speak another sound was picked up from the roaring wind; a distinct clawing and a gruff breathing.

Silus paused and turned slowly toward the northwest corner of the makeshift shelter, and the men nearby withdrew as one when a large silhouette appeared outside of the rock ledge. The large horns, protruding fangs, and impossibly sized claws made it an unmistakable shadow: a Deathclaw.

The men morphed from angry, confused bystanders to silent animals as they waited, breathless, for the beast to pass. Silus didn't dare replace his goggles and balaclava just yet--if he was going to die in a cave hole he'd rather see the fucker coming--but he watched, paralyzed, as the thing fought against the wind, growling and clambering up the nearby wall. Its foot grazed the fabric and the discarded Centurion armor holding down the tarp rattled, sounding like pebbles in a can, but the beast either didn't hear the noise or didn't care as it continued to fight its way upward. Soon the long reptilian tail whipped out of sight above the ledge, and Silus exhaled slowly, shaking his head before replacing his mask and goggles. 

One of the younger men slumped against the far wall. "From glorious army to frightened titmouse," he muttered venomously, and crossed his arms. Silus actually stared at him for several long, quiet moments before he retorted, "This is the Wasteland, you fucking idiot. We're all nothing out here."

Now he turned his attention back to the woman. "Which is why I find it difficult to believe you have anything to offer us," and he nodded at the few spots of blood on the ground near her. "Especially considering you don't need us to wound you further." 

* * *

** FINCH **

The blonde had thrown her hands up, readying herself to face the loud legionnaire's anger if need be. Finch glared at the man with clear disdain as he yelled at her in that ridiculous fucking language. She had a feeling there was no avoiding it, but she had hoped blindly that the gamble would work in her favor. If Finch needs to scramble out of the small cave, she would do it, and risk suffocating on the sand being kicked around or getting struck by the lightning. Thankfully, Silus began scolding (at least that's what it sounded like) his volatile men, she allowed herself a brief moment to breathe. This holding herself so stiff, expecting impact at any given moment, was beginning to hurt like a motherfucker.

_"Fucking Christ."_

Watching them was beyond the point of aggravating, conversing in another language she has never heard the likes of before. Jesus Christ, she wanted to do nothing but snarl and yell at these fucking morons. Were they normal men, she'd do just that and be done with them all together. As she thought this she considered her own it for a moment. Technically they were normal men, no more violent or deadly than the strung out fiend who attacked her. Maybe make her death slow and painful? 

But just like any other men, they will bleed out and die. Even as a group they have a weakness. Listening to her at all, being the first, Finch has a way with words luckily. A woman could exploit this obvious mistake, and with her quick feet and thinking it'd be easy to out run or the scraping of stone and sand behind her, caused Finch to whip around with her pistol back out and aimed at the entrance. It had gone against every survival rule in the book about dealing with enemies, turning her back on hostiles was bad, very bad, but the obvious form of a Deathclaw outside would be the only exception to any rule.

A gasp almost escaped the small woman, before she held her breath forcefully. Her feet had been taking her form backwards in the group's direction, pistol still raised, and almost tripping over one of the men. Hastily she grabbed his shoulder to stop herself from falling backwards, as well as making any more noise, then proceeded to back right up against the caverns' wall. The silence they all shared intensified the thick tension that was already consuming them. Besides the scraping of the beast just beyond the small makeshift barrier, the race of her heart and possibly theirs filled her ears. If anyone had whispered anything, she didn't hear it.

This was not how she planned her day to go, nor was this how she planned to die. She'll be damned if she doesn't go out without a fight. A wide-eyed expression took over her features beneath the respirator and goggles, while her arm began shaking from holding the gun up. Another hand shot out to grab her wrist, one of the younger legionaries, an attempt to stop her from shooting as the beast's tail left their line of sight. Finch could almost feel everyone collective exhale, at that, the blonde once again lowered the gun.

" _From glorious army to frightened titmouse_." Another young one muttered. Finch had snorted at his words.

" _This is the Wasteland, you fucking idiot. We're all nothing out here_." With attention slowly coming back to Finch, she cursed under her breath at the wound now being reopened from her movement. " _Which is why I find it difficult to believe you have anything to offer us. Especially considering you don't need us to wound you further_." Without thinking her free hand lifted to her ribs, holding the wound carefully.

"Uhh, no I do not need that, sir… Name is Finch Bishop." The blonde let it sink in for a few seconds, but their blank expressions worried her. "My father is Mr. Bishop? New Reno? Runs the Shark Club…?" She shook her head opting to get on with it.

"Look, I can offer you aid. Y'all are fighting over the dam, right? With the NCR? We have bodies, able bodies that can change the tide for you. They are expendable to us, but valuable if we're talking numbers. Numbers have helped us seize New Reno in the past." Mr. Bishop would flip a tit if he was here, but when cornered one must take necessary measures. "I can personally see to it that the battle will tip in your favor. That is, unless…you were left out here to die in this storm?" Finch's head lifted to meet Silus' gaze. "It could help you out, yeh? Could be worth the gamble, right?" 

"You spit nothing but venom, stupid bitch." The kid, that had grabbed her before, decided to test the waters in insulting her. And honestly, she has no patience for petty words.

"AM I TALKING TO YOU, SCAB?" Venom was all that these words were laced with now. "Shut the fuck up. You wouldn't know a way out even if it was a snake and actually bit your dumb ass."

* * *

** SILUS  **

_"My father is Mr. Bishop? New Reno? Runs the Shark Club…?”_

The others shifted uncomfortably--they, like Silus, were likely only familiar with the name. Caesar had never set his eye on the smaller settlement, the large glistening jewel of the Mojave his primary focus, and rightly so. Legion forces were already spread thin out here north of Arizona, and so the likelihood of this woman knowing the full consequences of dabbling with the crimson army was very small.

Still, he was immediately intrigued. Silus had long learned that one of his weaknesses were for the few women of the desert who showed .......what was it Intelligence, courage? Spunk? For those who didn't know their place, who spoke up instead of sat down. Maybe it was because subservient women bored him, or maybe it had everything to do with the fact that he was restless with the hive mind of the Legion, and had been ever since Caesar left him for dead YET AGAIN at the hands of some no-name tribe in a pointless sand dune. 

So, despite the years of training that spoke to him and told him to cut her down, silence her now that her decoy weapon had been proven a fake, he simply flared his nostrils behind the makeshift dust mask and listened to her. At the moment, it was mere curiosity. Intrigue.

" _Look, I can offer you aid. Y'all are fighting over the dam, right? With the NCR? We have bodies, able bodies that can change the tide for you. They are expendable to us, but valuable if we're talking numbers. Numbers have helped us seize New Reno in the past. I can personally see to it that the battle will tip in your favor. That is, unless…you were left out here to die in this storm?_ "

She had no idea that behind the goggles and mask, he was smirking. It was only because of her candor. She had guts all right, and a hell of a lot of stupidity. He could hear the truth in her words. She was who she said she was. Whether or not she had numbers, he didn't really care. Most people out here in the wastes simply blubbered and begged for their lives. If she had the calculating ability to offer a bargain, and an enticing bargain at that, he had to admit her quick thinking and swift tongue made her an asset. No doubt someone like Vulpes would enjoy her. 

_"It could help you out, yeh? Could be worth the gamble, right?"_

"Gamble,” Silus said despite himself, with a note of humor in his tone. It got lost in the wind. She snapped at one of his men and now he snorted, immediately regretting the decision as he coughed dust through the meager shield. When she shut up the Legionary, Silus turned toward them and he saw the men's faces all turn as one. They were looking at him for what to do.

Now he was the one who had to think quickly. No matter how much Silus personally liked to play cat and mouse with these dangerous women, he couldn't argue that it had gotten him in immense trouble. Even nearly killed a few times. No, they were not a gamble he was willing to take. And yet as the wind tore at the securely-fastened tarps, he looked past his own interest and toward the mindset of the men. They would gang up on her in a heartbeat--not that they needed to, she was one woman and already injured--but for the fun of the kill, he knew how it would go. But it would most likely kill them all. Even a spare gunshot, or knocking someone too close to the tarp would end their pathetic shelter and cause everyone to drown in red dust. 

Lightning struck nearby, making a metallic, vibrating sound on the rock and lighting up the red faces, all hidden behind their gear. Despite the anonymity, Silus could see and feel their bared teeth, probably rife with drool. Animals, at the moment. He had to contain the situation.

"We are under no more favor with Caesar than you," he stated honestly, and loudly. He wanted to say these words in such a clear manner that no misunderstanding would be garnered. He was, more or less, giving an order without his men knowing it. He cocked his head to the side. "However, I am willing to discuss what you would be worth for ransom, once the storm passes." Even that wasn't true--he had no idea what he would do with her when the storm passed, and honestly, he didn't care. Silus felt like Antony, trying to command the Legion mongrels and prevent them from gnawing a hole in the slave pen just to let the meat out.

The men muttered, but the words had been spoken so resolutely that none had an argument. Silus took advantage of the sighs and grunts that he heard. They were tired. All the better.

"I will take watch," he boomed over the loud rumble of thunder. "Face the wall and cover your heads before you sleep." There were barely any scraps of fabric from the togas leftover, and now he himself sighed as the men began to stir and move toward the back of the wall. It was the second sacrifice he'd made since entering the cave. The droplets of water that had littered the sandy floor were already evaporated, erasing any proof of his selflessness, but now he scooted away from the wall, withdrawing his sawed-off shotgun and placing it idly in his lap. 

He was facing the girl. The other Legionaries threw disgusted looks her way as they moved, scrambling for the dark inner cliff wall and turning their backs toward the storm. Silus tried to see out the red-tinted wall, but beyond the constant rain of dirt and wind, which caused the tarp to bow inward, he could see nothing. After studying it for several minutes, free of thought and focused on watch, he turned back toward the group. She was apart from the men, rather comically, as they huddled safely together, weapons still in hand. 

Now Silus could see by the dim light, dampness on the ground after all. He stared, confused, until another droplet fell into the tiny puddle. It soaked into the dust and he watched, mesmerized, and then realized it was blood. His eyes traveled upward to the girl, who was swaddled in her own clothes, a dark stain revealing the puncture wound.

"You're leaking," he said in a cold snarl, as though the weakness delighted him. He nodded toward the ground. 

* * *

** FINCH **

_"We are under no more favor with Caesar than you_ ," The man's words brought a halt to the tension that sat thick after she raised her voice. She tilted her head in realization of their unfortunate position. The previous state of thinking that men of the Legion were not normal was the worst way to iamgine them. For they are just that. Men. They follow orders, they give orders, they make mistakes, and they break rules. They were as much dogs as Mr. Bishops thugs were, different ideals (in some ways), but albeit dogs. So this single Legionaire's disregard for the core instruction of his upbringing is refreshing and welcomed. Not all men in the Legion have love for the man behind it all. Just like all the raiders Mr. Bishop has ever spared, they have no love for the man either.

"However, I am willing to discuss what you would be worth for ransom, once the storm passes." At this a small chuckle escaped her lips beneath the respirator. It wasn't the idea she had in mind, but it was something that gave her more time. She felt it possible to at least get this Silus to understand the logic in a mutual cooperation as they traveled the wastes back to New Reno. Once they arrive to collect this sought after 'ransom', she couldn't guarantee their safety if she was in chains. Or at all. They may be killed at the gates. It was hard to say for certain,

"If you believe you can honestly get something out of the Shark Club, then... Fine. We'll discuss it later." Finch spoke above the grumbling men, now ignoring most of them to avoid any further outbursts from them as well as herself. She scooted herself down the wall of the cavern, her face showing a momentary expression of pain while she carefully maneuvered around the men to get a tad closer to Silus after he gave his orders. Sadly, the asshole was the only thing keeping the dogs on a tight leash, so she wasn't about to stray away from his observing gaze. Still she stood, returning his hard expression with one of her own.

What now? Was she supposed to make small talk with a slaver? _You know I always found the way your Legion indoctrinated tribes fascinating, tell me how it works_! No, she refused to.

" _You're leaking_." His snarl was duly noted and respectfully ignored for the time being. Her eyes shot over to the now damaged makeshift tarp around the entrance. A defeated sigh passed through the respirator, then throwing her pack down she dug through it until she found what she needed. It was a large canvas cloth she used for small tents on the road. With the canvas in hand she walking to the tarp and jury rigged the canvas behind it, making it (hopefully) a little more effective in keeping the dust out. Once happy it wouldn't blow out of place, at least just yet, she turned back and made her way to sit next to Silus. She was not sleeping in close proximity with any of these dogs. They'd probably gut her while she slept.

"Yes. I am." She finally acknowledged the observation he made. Careful not to aggravate the wound anymore, she sat across from him. She motioned to her bag, "If I may..." But she did not wait for any permission, she went right ahead and grabbed out her first aid supplies. After all if she waited any longer an infection was sure to fester. Practiced movements prepared everything before she removed her jacket and began inspecting the blood seeping through her shirt. Fuck it. With no more time left she hiked her shirt up enough, not exactly worried about the indecency, and began inspecting the gash as thoroughly as she could. Finch was more worried that it was going to slow her down, and that would simply not do. She hissed at the sting of the alcohol as she cleaned it out tenderly. Her gaze was pointed and loaded with more aggravation than intended. The blonde really needed to be careful, any more outburst may just lead to her being strangled.

"How the fuck.... ugh, this is goddamn aggravating." Finch spoke to no one in particular at first before glancing up at him. "Y’all were left for dead, weren't ya?"

* * *

SILUS

When the girl began to sift for supplies, lifting her shirt to expose the wound, Silus's dark brows raised behind the goggles. He slid his gaze over to the men, most of whom were already snoring--they were like puppies, he decided for the two-hundredth time. He had a smart remark ready for her, about exposing her midriff in a wolf's den, but he saved it considering the good fortune he'd had with quieting everyone down. Silus had no intention of riling them back up. However, he did tighten the grip on his shotgun out of habit. And now he swung his head away from the men and back to the figure who was now applying antiseptic with a great deal of frustration loaded into her body language. 

He reached for the leather pack on his left hip and expertly untied the knot, fishing out an old flip lighter, a bone needle, and thread--red, of course, as it had been wound together by a Legion slave. Silus looked down at his hands for a moment, considering them and the thick layer of red dust that powdered and muted less kind scars and dried blood that wasn't his own. 

" _Y'all were left for dead, weren't ya?"_ she asked him now, after glancing up and away from the wound. Silus now flicked the lighter, pulling it close to the woman's torso. The gash was uneven, but at least her washing had seemed to remove any debris. He studied it a moment longer before clipping the cap and threading the needle with all of the dedication of a sweet old grandmother by the fireplace. 

"Technically, we were all left for dead hundreds of years ago," he supplied as an honest, yet deflecting, answer. Silus struck the lighter open again, burning the needle and turning it in his calloused fingers. He felt compelled to keep the conversation away from anything remotely jarring, considering the restless and unhappy men nearby, but after a few more moments of silence in which Silus scooted even closer, attempted to see the wound, failed, and then lifted his goggles, he motioned at her. "Hold your shirt up and lean the other way."

His eyes teared up with dust immediately, but after putting a finger to his clothed lips, signaling for her to bite her damn tongue or likely suffer consequences, he worked quickly, sewing the gash shut one loop at a time, his dirty fingers pinching the clean nearby skin together and leaving red stain marks over her pale torso. "But yes, we were," he decided, noting that he was halfway down the avulsion already, the thick dust settling on his eyelashes and tinting them crimson and brown.

"Caesar forgets his men in the field," he stated bluntly, "Until they do something beneficial, of course. We were undermanned and undersupplied, thus useless." 

Another electric peal of thunder pealed through the valley, leaving a metallic taste in Silus's mouth: radiation. There was no Geiger counter here, but he knew the dosage when he felt it. He snapped the thread, tying a knot and backing away, wrapping his supplies up and returning them to the hidden pouch while staring at her wound, inspecting his handiwork. 

"You'll still want a bandage to cover it," he advised, shrugging his goggles back over his face, "All mine are covered in sand." He adjusted the goggles, blinking at the tears that washed away sand and dirt from his eyes. 

Now Silus cupped the butt of the shotgun, tilting his head when he heard a small spattering--droplets of rain. He settled against the cavern wall, leaning back on a rock and feeling the soreness in his muscles. "Sleep," he ordered in his usual unkind voice, "Lot of walking ahead of us when this storm dies down."

* * *

FINCH

With his brave move of inspecting her wound, she visibly flinched at first, then stilled to let him get a decent look. Finch had half a mind to growl at him like a goddamned rabid dog. Yet she restrained herself, from this angle she really could not get a good look at it. And if the legionary had a means to help, then by all means, she would take it. She may have to repay the favor, but what doesn't require repayment out in the wastes anymore? Very few things. Her green eyes fixated on the cavern wall next to them and she sighed, a sad attempt to alleviate the immediate tension in the air. But still the man remained quiet for a moment longer. "This is the wasteland, so technically, we were all left for dead hundreds of years ago." At this a cheeky smile formed across her lips.

“Hah, okay, Sir.." Finch chuckled softly and rolled her eyes at him. He seemed older then her, but she was not born yesterday. This was all the backup he had, and no way (she was assuming) to call for more. Especially in this storm. However it mattered little what he was left for. They were all here now, and would have to try to work together to stay alive. Or they could just boss her around, since she's outnumbered. As the man got closer do her, her internal alarms were ringing and trying to tell her to fall back.

Only a slight flinch taking over her frame. Still she remained rooted to her spot, ignoring the red flags the seemed to be even more apparent when he ordered her to give him more access to her wound. For whatever reasoning beyond her comprehension, she humored him. If he was going to kill her, Finch supposed he honestly would have done so already. Again, she reminded herself, he wasn't a normal dog, at least, not completely.

His movement caught her eye and she nodded in response, instead she took hold of her jacket with her teeth. Jaw tightening as she prepared herself mentally as well as physically for the oncoming discomfort. The needle was carefully poked into one side of the wound, causing the blonde to inhale sharply. As Silus' hands made quick work, she began to breathe through her nostrils hurriedly, until he was finished. The pain wasn't the worst she's dealt with, but definitely not something she likes to sit through. Trickles of blood could be felt on her torso, but it had to be done. The sucker would not heal otherwise, that she knew for a fact.

"But yes, we were," He admitted to her. Strange she wasn't expecting and admission of truth at all. She did not require it. Although it made things interesting. "Caesar forgets his men in the field. Until they do something beneficial, of course." At this she nodded again. Mr. Bishop seems a lot like Caesar, just a lot less ambitious. And probably fatter than him. "Sleep. Lot of walking ahead of us when this storm dies down." Once he disengaged from his work she grabbed gauze from her pack, ignoring the storm beyond the tarp, and wrapped her torso up as best as she could.

The blonde then had removed her respirator in hopes to save the last couple cans she had. Revealing just the bottom half of her face, before dowsing a scarf with one of the few water bottles she had, and placing it over her nose and mouth. Finch retreated to the furthest corner of the cave, not that it would do any good in the end. After all, she was outnumbered. She curled up with her pack facing away from the entrance, and began her sleepless night filled with night sweats and jump nightmares after a half hour of sleeping. There is no good that could come from this.

* * *

SILUS

The rain continued through the rest of the dust storm, and when the winds finally died down Silus saw no light wafting through the Legion tarp. He was as motionless as everyone else inside, the others having curled up or sprawled out along the back wall of the cove, but Silus's eyes had remained open, studying the figures as his thoughts drifted in no particular direction; Caesar, his men, the storms, the Mojave, Caesar again…..

When he moved, his knee popped loudly, groaning at him for the awkward position he'd been lounging in. 

Silus shrugged his shoulders and used the end of the shotgun barrel to pull a mere centimeter of fabric away. He saw nothing but a dark blue-black, the darkness seeming to be liquid after so much time spent gazing at the red glow. Silus blinked and shifted his weight to his other leg, scooting toward the opening and peering out farther as he pulled the sheet away. Moonlight, sparse, washed into the tent and with it, the fresh scent of Mojave rain. Silus inhaled deeply, gulping down the cool air, and he removed the dusty mask at once, tugging the scarf down around his neck. 

The rain was a steady drizzle, and he thankfully peeled the edge of the makeshift tent away far enough to step fully onto the rock side, completing a full turn and scan of the area--empty and quiet--before he scooped his hand into a rocky crag filled with rainwater. Silus swished the irradiated water around in his mouth before spitting, feeling moisture for the first time since he'd sacrificed his drinking water for breathing filters. His shotgun was still in his other hand, and Silus tucked the weapon into his belt before tearing off the rest of his face gear and beginning to untie the tarp. The men stirred, several starting awake at the noises, but pausing once they saw the familiar toga and boots of their Centurion. 

Silus saw several short glances toward their unwelcome guest, but most of the men followed suit and exited, looking for water and peeling off layers of sand-soaked fabric. He heard the rattling cough of two men and said nothing; he had heard such coughs before after sandstorms. There had been no survivors. After the particles entered the lungs, they stayed, cutting up the tissue and causing infection. Silus simply folded up the fabric and helped pack as his Decanus counted the men and inventory. He felt another twinge of guilt and anger, this time again at Caesar, as he heard the racketing cough.

* * *

FINCH

Rough hands had yanked her up, by the collar of her jacket, from where she slept on the cavern floor. She had only truly fell asleep maybe a few short hours before, her green eyes glared daggers at the nameless man the woke her up so violently. "Get up." He barked at the blonde. She snarled back at the man when she felt the stitches in her side throb at the quick movement. Finch shoved his hands off her and fixing her jacket and removing her hood to attempt to remove the red dust from her light hair. The cave was unreasonably hot, or maybe it was her. The scarf was also removed from her face, as well as the goggles. The girl drank up the fresh air, as if she was starving for it. Technically, she was. Throbbing from her wound was not making her feel any better, quickly she had turned to change out the blood soaked gauze.

She, too, heard a few of the men cough and she shot a glance to their superior. A hint of a question in her expression, but it was fleeting and quickly vanished once she was hustled out by one of the legion dogs. The fear that the heat--especially with the slight wind being cool--she was feeling was a fever, began settle badly right in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

SILUS

The ragtag group had arrived on foot, not long thereafter, at the remains of the old settlement-- _settlement_ was a generous word--the raiders before them had scrapped the place of all but concrete and rebar. There was no glass in the windows, but several shards of red fabric still hung from a few, flapping in the rain almost comically. Silus was tall enough to see over the few dune valleys left by the storm. Not only were the raider carcasses, months rotted, baking in the Mojave moonlight; he could see the red-clad bodies huddled in corners, hunkered behind walls. He only grunted, and nodded to his second, who began the task of setting up camp.

Men dispersed to gather supplies and make shelter and fire. Silus was almost relieved for their glum mood at seeing the desolation of the sandstorm; depressed men were subservient, and he didn't need anyone else getting any goddamn democratic ideas and banding away from the group. Especially with his wild card--the girl, he now turned to. "I believe you and I have matters to discuss," he stated flatly, eyes traveling down her side to the dried blood on her garments. "How is your leak?"

* * *

FINCH

The Bishop girl managed to keep up with the men, rather she wasn't given a choice but to. She had sweat completely pouring off her, this was a fever setting in. It was scaring the shit out of her. As their group reached the destroyed settlement, she looked on in hesitant wonder. They were almost all caught in that sandstorm. These battered buildings and corpses could have been all of them. Yet here they were. Like some joke at a higher power's expense. None of these survivors were saints, not even Finch herself. Perhaps being stuck with slavers was her punishment for all the cruelty she was capable of.

The men got to work without a word, she envied Silus and his superiority over them. Or maybe they respected him enough, maybe his size alone was enough to deter recklessness from them. "I believe you and I have matters to discuss. How is your leak?" Her eyes narrowed at him and played with the idea of lying, but she won't last long finding something on her own.

"The truth? I reckon I have a fever, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried." Finch adjusted her pack on her back, shaking her head with a slight smirk as she watched the men disperse. She really wasn't sure what more he wished to discuss; he was a man of the Legion, they aren't exactly known to negotiate with prisoners. And as far as negotiations for her ransom, there was little she could promise at the moment. Any ideas she had to get out of this had honestly died with the storm the night before. There was no way to escape this situation just yet, but the least Finch could do was humor him. Blow smoke up his ass, seemed a decent enough option up until she got home safely. Then she'd have to concoct another game plan for that moment with the time she has currently.

"Are your men always this obedient?" Her curiosity got the better of her. Mr. Bishop, Finch realized, always has to bark orders at lesser men. So to see someone not breathe a word and have their underlings already actively taking care of their tasks, was a bit of a wonder. "Do you command them with respect?"

There was a hint of humor to her voice, "Or is it fear?"

* * *

SILUS

Silus's face betrayed nothing; it was sour as always, but he was scanning her anyway. She looked...rough. An obvious infection was presenting, he could tell by the clammy skin and sweaty brow, and lack of color around her lips. Silus was no medic, but he'd seen enough death in his years to draw reasonable conclusions. The fact that she seemed so drained, paired with the hacking coughs of several men, made him angry rather than weary. He'd been weary of Caesar's games long enough.

When she answered, he lazily turned his head to the side, watching the tent poles go up and listening to the grumbles of the men. He wasn't happy with what he was about to say, and paused again to ruminate on his own anger at everything. The fucking storm. Caesar. His men, the corpses of some still slumped in the ruins of buildings nearby. Someone had started a fire and was piling bodies; he could smell the familiar scent of burning flesh.

He needed to focus on their survival, and savor his anger later. The brunette finally glanced back at her and nodded his reply.

"You should be worried. I don't know how well your body can fight infection but..." he sized her up again, nodded. "You'll have to. If you expect to live."

"Sir," a Decanus interrupted, and Silus nodded at the man to proceed, "There's a cistern nearby that was shielded from the dust, we've got plenty of water to stock up on. But there aren't any other supplies here."

"Right. These lowlands are full of geckos," Silus replied, surveying the area, trying to sniff past the scent of bodies burning, "Maybe mantis and some plants." Just as he opened his mouth to give the word for a hunting party, he closed it, and then restarted his sentence. "I will take our captive and go north, for food. Send two of your men south on the road." He glanced at the grey horizon. "Tell them to return after no more than two hours. We should be back by then."

The Decanus dipped his ruffled headfeathers and turned, barking at the two men nearest them. 

" _Are your men always this obedient?"_

The question caught him off guard, but he blinked, able to recover quickly. "The devastating, crippling fear of death lends an extra hand," he snapped. 

_"Do you command them with respect? Or is it fear?"_

He pursed his lips at her demanding questions; such would get her a cross hastily within the Legion. But Silus was not concerned with dragging her to the Fort; he was more concerned with using her as leverage. If he turned up with someone worth money and connections, he could prove his own worth to Caesar, and--though it made him increasingly more angry the more he thought about it--that's what Silus needed right now.

"We're walking north," he answered, tossing her a bat with nails in it. They could not only forage for food, but a caravan or two were likely traversing the main stretch, and Silus knew by the girl's condition that she would need medicine. He hadn't said that in front of his men, however. He began walking, not bothering to notice if she would follow. 

* * *

FINCH

_"Do what?!_ **Do you even hear what you're suggestin** _’?"_

Her voice raised in anger, certainly this guy was crazy in the head. With what quick reflexes she still had, she caught the bat, and held it to herself closely. He had basic knowledge of first aid... How in the hell does he believe she could possibly fight an infection like this? The human body requires strong medicine to fight this. "I need to find actual medicine, you fuckin' caveman, I can't simply fight this off. I'll die. If it was you, you'd die." The woman threw her arms up, frustrated the one group that decides to capture her alive is an inferior one. As she lowered her arms, she wiped the excess of sweat from her brow. The blonde supposed not much made any difference, anymore, at this rate they may all still die.

One of his men behind her snatched the collar of her coat as Silus turned to walk away from them, then swiftly landed a hard fist into the uninjured side of her stomach. Finch coughed and groaned in pain, obviously hurting far more than normal. The movement caused her torso to twist in a way that she could feel her skin straining against the stitches the Centurion had helped her with the night before. "Watch your filthy tongue, degenerate." While hunched over, her green eyes rolled at the moronic demand. Though, it was amusing the idiot believed she was scared of them, at this point in the game.

Before she made a move to stand straight and get a grip on reality before she was left with the dogs, the same man had kept a vice grip on her collar, then proceeded to yank her pack from her back. A hard kicked was met with the back of her knee, causing her frame to stumble forward and catch herself with her hands and knees. The bat Silus had just tossed to her bouncing off the ground next to her upon impact. The Legionary emptied its contents as the other two spoke to each other. Burning flesh, invaded her nostrils making her cough more. "You'll get a heavily rationed portion of whatever is left, when the Centurion returns with you. If you return at all, that is." He snarled before tossing her empty pack back at her, and she was far too weak to even snarl back. 

What the dog was insinuating didn't sit well. If Silus wanted them to walk north, is he dragging her along to put her down? Clearly she'd slow them down in this condition. But what of the promises she made in exchange for her life? Or does caps even mean anything to the Legion? Does her word mean anything? Does his? Well, assuming 'we'll discuss matters' means he isn't looking to stab her as she sleeps.

With a weary huff, she grabbed the pack and pat and half-jogged up to Silus. Her left hand gripped the handle of the baseball bat tightly. The Centurion, was quick to arm her after they had confiscated everything, much earlier. She was over thinking this, she need to focus on not falling flat on her fucking face.

As she approached, he spoke, almost as an afterthought. "Respect or fear, what is the difference to you?"

At this she giggled. "Well, heavy metal lover, I just don't think respect works as effectively as bein' feared." The blonde fell quiet after that, trying to conserve what energy she can in this heat. Though, the effort seemed pointless.

His green eyes cut toward her and he flared his nostrils, eager to get away from the scent of burning flesh.

"Fear is a powerful weapon," was his only response, and the pair fell silent as they walked.

It felt like they just walked aimlessly for hours, or maybe time was moving slow because of the infection. They had passed dilapidated buildings, nothing promising. The blonde swore this was her punishment for being a little shit all those years. Their footsteps were loud above their joined silence. Almost deafening. Had she more will, she'd pester him about stopping for medicine. But it was hot, sweltering even. If she opened her mouth to talk, or bitch as far as Silus was concerned, she'd probably vomit.

Sweat continued to pour off her, light hair soaked, shirt and jacket, too. Every step the Bishop girl took, the farther she seemed to sink within the dirt. A knot formed in her stomach, as her hearing began to muffle and her vision became blurry. Finch called out, frantically, to her captor. "Silus, I--" Her footing gave way, and once again the blonde crashed to the dirt beneath her, into pitch black. Such a weak, stupid girl.

* * *

SILUS

Silus hated to admit it to himself, and for the first part of the long walk, he hadn't, but he welcomed the respite from the men, from the grave death scene...from it all. He needed time to think. Ironic, considering that a Centurion's worth came not from thinking, but plowing like an overloaded freight train into enemy lines at Caesar's whim. At one time, he would have trusted that tactic, but lately, it resulted in more death. It had, in fact, caused the loss at Hoover Dam months before. Graham had been the epitome of an enraged showoff, and it landed him a spot at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. And yet here was Silus, attempting to be more calculating, dare he say, like Caesar's beloved dog-headed Frumentarius, and it was looking more and more like a death sentence.

He used his sawed-off shotgun to kill a lone, idiotic gecko who rushed at the pair on the road, and Silus momentarily entertained the idea of making Finch carry the carcass like a pack Brahmin, but her pale and clammy countenance forced him to abandon the thought. He almost smirked as he tied the gecko's feet, slinging the reptile over his shoulder in a grand display of chivalry.

Silus saw, amid the twisted ruination of buildings, a daylight campfire, the bright orange shocks flickering off the newly-dusty archaic walls. He pivoted from the road, the girl following wordlessly. Her condition was worsening, but he refrained from reassuring her that aide was most likely half a mile away at most now. There was a chance it was a caravan without a doctor or medical supplies, and he'd rather not speak without certainty--a trademark of all confident leaders.

She'd fallen directly behind him now, and Silus barely caught her delirious murmur as she crashed; he spun on his heel, failing to catch her before she crashed to the ground, and he almost laughed, before realizing his own predicament. 

With a loud, punctuated growl of a sigh, Silus secured the gecko to his back and then bent, picking the woman up in what would have been, 200 years ago, a traditional firefighter carry. There were more romantic ways to sling a female over one's shoulders, probably, but he didn't care. His eyes focused on the burning garbage can and he steadily approached it, noting her shallow breaths and the cool stain of pooling blood near one of his shoulders, where her wound still oozed.

* * *

"I need medical aid," he stated simply as he approached, and with huge relief Silus watched the mercenaries part a bit too trustfully, a female doctor appearing from a nearby tent and motioning her aides to take the patient. "Get her some water, and get my sterilization tools," she snapped, but Silus shook his head, "I've already stitched her up. She's got an infection."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were the doctor," she shot back, and he had the strong urge to shoot the woman directly in the face. The caravan leader seemed to read this murderous glare and quickly jumped between the two, "That'll be all, Doctor Wong, thank you, haha," she laughed nervously. The doctor gestured rudely to Silus and turned back to her tent, still barking orders, as Silus fumed.

"You got caps to pay for this?" The caravan master was all business. "That gecko on your back won't get you much."

"It's not for payment, worm," he drawled impatiently, "It's our food. And I'm going to need more."

He could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as her face lit up. "You want more gecko? I got a lot of that."

The doctor's hateful face reappeared. "She's not going to need stitching up."

"I TOLD you..."

"It's a terrible, amateur, shoddy job, but I've stopped the bleeding with hemostatic powder," she interrupted. 

"You motherf--"

"But she WILL need antibiotics. She has an--"

"An **infection**. **I told you that**."

"Lucky for you we raided a vault with some medications not too long ago."

"Shame you made it out alive," he sneered, and she disappeared into the tent with another rude hand gesture. 

"So, pretty boy with the bad attitude," the cheerful caravan dealer intercepted, "What kind of coin are we talking?"

He fished into the deep pockets, withdrawing the large canvas drawstring he always carried. "I have a preference for meat, but if you have any vegetation fresher than the stinking filth you surround yourself with, I will take that too."

She opened the heavy fabric cloth. At first, feeling the weight of the satchel, her eyes lit up, but after she untied the coinpurse the woman's face became very troubled, then fell completely. "L...Legion money..." she stammered, then looked up at Silus. She quite suddenly noted the red clothing, the cape, the multiple weapons strapped to his chest and side.

"You're Legion," she whispered, almost in horror.

"Congratulations," he snapped, tilting the shotgun over his shoulder. "Blue fucking ribbon. Two of them, actually, for sharpness and wit."

"But..." now her fear was displaced by wonder, "Why are you helping that woman?"

"Are you going to get me some food, or am I going to have to slaughter and eat your camp?" He was loud, and the mercenaries, nearby, tilted their heads at the increased volume. The dealer gave the 'it's okay' signal and nodded, dumbstruck.

"Hey, money's money....come over here and let me get you started with some Brahmin steaks..."

* * *

FINCH

The wind howled relentlessly into her still form. She laid on the ground. Or rather, in sand. It licked her skin red and raw. The blonde slowly opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows, the sky held a red hue, much like the storm from before. Amid the canyon walls she laid in the open, no cover in sight. Just the tall walls of rock that enclosed her in this cage. Her clothes were replaced with a long white shirt, barely keeping her warm. Which struck her as odd, she was in a desert yet she was cold.

A strumming of a guitar caused her to look around for the instrument, but it was faint and hard to hear over the howling. There was a familiar figure that had caught her eye in her desperate search for the source of the music, it was the centurion. He was just a silhouette against the hue of the area, unmoving like a statue. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but it was filled with dust and sand, causing her to choke on the deadly air. In that moment, all noise was void. Almost as if she were in a vacuum, she could feel the wind and the sand but she did not hear it beat against her and the canyon walls. The coughing shook her body, but she couldn't hear herself sputter and gasp.

It was nothing like she'd ever experienced, but she knew this wasn't real. Finch wasn't really here, and neither was the centurion. Her eyes straining to see beyond the lack of air in her lungs, the legionary still a silhouette in the distance. This felt like a warning of some sort, an omen maybe. The pitch black was soaking up her vision again, and the blonde was just relieved she didn't have to choke on this air anymore.

"Mr. Bishop isn't here, my dear." The unfamiliar voice was loud in contrast to the nothingness of her nightmares. Green eyes struggled to open, and focus on the form hovering over her, prodding her. Her side was throbbing, but it was dull compared to before. "How are you feelin’? "

"Wha-- " Her voice was raspy and cracked at the misuse. Blinking a few times her vision began to swim into focus more, making out an unfamiliar face and tent. The other woman stopped her prodding; she stood to her full height, glaring at the blonde.

"You are a long way from New Reno, Ms. Bishop. What are doing out here? And... with him?"

"Hmm. Too many questions. You get one; I am feelin' like death. Do I fuckin' know you?"

"No, you don't. But I've been to the Shark Club a few times, saw you play there. I wasn't sure right off the bat, but then you began asking for Mr. Bishop just now." The other woman chuckled, before clearing her throat. Her voice getting low, as if to keep the conversation between the two of them. "Did he do this to you?" The doctor motion to her wound, her face already convinced of the answer even though she was far from wrong about it.

"Was a fiend, on the way out of Vegas. Thought it'd clear up, shoulda known better." Finch sat up in the cot, wiping sweat from her brow, and running fingers through her knotted hair. Not really caring about the skeptical look she was receiving from the doctor. Bitch was stupid if she honestly thought one could get captured by a bunch of slavers, and only come out with a machete wound.

"Yeah, ya should have. Should have stayed in Vegas, where it's safe." The doctor grabbed a small pile of familiar gear. Placing it next to her on the cot. "Here are most of your things, mostly cleaned, rest of it was unsalvageable. Now, you have been out for a bit. Suppose you'll be fine as far as that infection goes if you continue these right here."

The doctor shook a container full of capsules. "Finish them all. It'll leave a scar but you're no stranger with those. One more won't kill you. Physical labor will need to be kept to a minimum. Mostly because of your lack of energy and blood loss. But I don't have high hopes of you having a chance to rest much with that one..." A silence fell between the two before she placed a hand over Finch's. Her voice getting low. "Do you need help? We can handle one of them. He ain't nothing with the numbers we have."

Finch stared hard at the woman, almost acting without thinking and saying yes. But there was more than just the Centurion, and they couldn't be that much farther from where they were at. The blonde retracted her hand from the other's touch. "No. Best if you just keep out of it."

"We're headed towards New Reno. We could let yo--"

"Are you fuckin' dumb? That'll get me killed. Don't breathe a fuckin' word about seeing me. Don't even whisper it, if you're going to be in New Reno. Don't even let the Legionary know that you recognize me." Her voice had rose in aggravation. Stupidity was not a right. "Jesus. Can I get dressed now?"

* -

The oversized shirt they had given her remained on her back. It was the freshest item of clothing she had and she was not about to give it back to the caravan. She had bummed a cigarette from one of the guards, and wordlessly smoked at the edge of their camp. It was quieter, gave the Bishop time to actually think about her situation. Really, she couldn't offer anything to keep herself alive. She had offered bodies for their cause, but it wasn't like Mr. Bishop will honor her word she made in desperation.

The Bishops were NCR through and through. How the fuck was he going to react when he finds out she's been prancing around with Legion in hopes of not ending up dead in a ditch, or worse, a slave? The small panic that had set in her belly caused her to finish the cigarette in just a few drags. She tossed the butt and turned back to the camp to find Silus.

Wasn't hard to spot him, man stuck out like a sore thumb here. Quietly, Finch approached him, her color already returning to her features, and tugged on his sleeve. "Hey." She wore a smug look, almost holding back a laugh. "Head you carried me in all angry and barkin' orders. How romantic." Unable to keep control, now she did laugh, then quieted herself quickly not wanting to poke the bull too much. "You didn't have to do this. Bring me here, I mean. Could've left me, maybe you should've left me. Yet, you didn't. And I ain't gonna ask why, cause I don't care. But if it means anything, thanks. So….when can we get the fuck out of here? It smells like brahmin shit.”

* * *

SILUS

The merchant's initial shock and distrust had waned rather abruptly once she began counting the Legion coin Silus offered for her display of food. He sneered over the scraps of mantis leg and dead radroach, instead filling his pack with Legion-appropriate food. Funny how it was that he disobeyed a direct "do your death" order only to turn around and follow Caesar's nutritional plan. The truth was that Silus didn't mind indulging in the forbidden fruit of alcohol or pre-War food, he didn't see it as some abhorrent sin the way Legionaries were taught, but he wasn't stupid enough to imbibe while in a delicate situation...and this was a very delicate situation. Also, Blamco Mac and Cheese was fucking disgusting.

He stored the meat in the makeshift cooler, stuck in a nearby stream, and sat begrudgingly close to the central fire to keep guard over it. From his position he could see the doctor's tent in the distance, as well as the majority of the traveling camp. The silhouette of Vegas was far, far behind him and not visible through the still-cloudy skies. But Silus was happy to turn his back to the city, and beyond it, the direction of the Fort. For now, anyway.

As the afternoon wore on, he gave up his lounging position, glaring pointedly at the squatters as he passed, and heading toward the doctor. Predictably, three mercenaries started when they saw broody Silus approaching, holding their weapons against their stomachs as they closed the gap between him and the doctor's tent.

"It's beyond time for an update," he drawled before they could speak.

"Uh..." one of the men looked uncertainly behind him, but the doctor had heard Silus's loud request and exited the tent abruptly, throwing him an ugly look. 

"I thought Legion men didn't have any use for women," she put her hand on her hip, looking his armor up and down. "Looks like you've got your own skirt, even."

He pursed his lips as one female mercenary grinned; the others seemed too uncomfortable to move from their defensive positions, facial expressions included.

"It's called a kilt," he spat, "works better when a man is well-endowed. And as it turns out, it's pretty ergonomic when you **do a lot of RAPING**." He raised his voice abruptly on the last word, the smile falling from the merc's face.

"Women do have value in the Legion," he continued, more quietly and conversationally, "But doctors don't."

Once again the caravan leader opportunistically appeared, even as Silus took a step forward and the doctor crossed her arms angrily, her fists visible, knuckles white. As though to mirror their aggression, a low rumble of thunder crossed the evening sky, joining in on the somber mood. The sun was hidden, but now darker clouds cast shadows. 

"Hey, we're just doing a transaction here, remember?" She shot a glare first at the Legionary, then the physician. "No personal business, no politics." A nod was given toward the doctor. "Your services were heavily compensated for, I can say that."

"What if I say I don't DO business with tribals?" she shot.

He curled his lip. "Then I'd call you a fucking idiot, because you already did." He considered his next words with almost a smirk. "Based on how you reacted to her when you were working, you have enough concern for her to establish her monetary value to me. So now that I'm aware, you _should_ really watch yourself."

His green eyes danced over to the mercenaries, to the caravan leader, to the unfortunate gawkers who were eavesdropping and pretending to busy themselves with sweeping dirt or whatever they were doing to avoid looking like gawkers. "And since she's recovering, and I paid for the antibiotics, that abolishes all of your usefulness, if you ever had any."

All attempts at placation drained from the caravan leader's face. She paused as the doctor blinked, shocked at the Centurion's words, but finally the charismatic leader found her voice. "Doctor Wong...update please."

"She...she's just resting. Vitals are normalizing. She's dehydrated, we've got no sterile fluid to give. It wouldn't be a bad idea to give her water with a little table salt in it when you get on your way." The doctor's face crumpled up as though she were disgusted with herself at actually updating Silus on Finch's condition.

" _Marvelous_ ," he hissed, narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth, and then he shrugged away from the scene as though it were a nuisance. 

As he sauntered past the tents, bedding, random loot boxes and makeshift dinner and caravan tables, Silus paused at a familiar voice. It was Mr. New Vegas.

A young man fiddled with a radio, tucked away from the main table area. He sat in a folding chair, wearing remnants of a vault suit outfitted with waste-appropriate armor. Silus wandered near the radio, curious for an update, but the young man was shaking his head and smacking the device.

"What is the problem with this technology?" Silus drawled, and the teenager jumped. 

"Oh! Uh...well. I’m not sure," he frowned. "It just started getting staticky so I changed the batteries--we found a whole bunch in that vault!--but...it's not helping."

Silus held out his wide palm, saying nothing. The man complied, handing over the radio. Silus tuned it expertly, Though he wasn't looking, the doctor still had her eyes on him and shook her head at his blatant display of familiarity with tech, as though she disapproved of his defiance of the Legion credo. 

Radios were integral to updates, especially now, and he moved the antenna west, then north.

"If it's not the batteries, why is the signal so unclear?" 

"Magnetic interference," Silus said simply, continuing to finesse the antenna. 

"Magnetic--” The young man looked up at the cloudy dark sky with uncertainty. "You mean like lightning?"

There was static, random voices, a droning sound, and then a woman's faraway, dreamy voice, echoing two words before it too was lost to static: "......begin again....." He caught a snippet of a song, before he turned the antenna again and the song came in clearly. Marty Robbins was finishing a familiar tune.

"Dust storm," Silus corrected him. He held the radio precisely where it was, his arms outstretched, as the first droplets of rain began to fall around him. The song was fading, and the boy piped up, "But that storm ended--"

" _Wellllllllllcome back listeners, this is your host MR New Vegas, and I hope you are tucked in tight in your corner of the Nevada desert for tonight, because...well friends, it looks like we are stuck inside until at least tomorrow according to my radar here. A dust storm is currently in progress for the entire New Vegas area, and is moving southeast, reports say all the way to Camp Golf. NCR troops were out today getting all citizens to shelter. So if you were thinking of coming to gamble this weekend, I'd hold onto your caps, folks. No power has been affected for the Strip! So if you're listening from one of our wonderful casinos, have a drink, kick back and enjoy! We'll be doing requests all night ---"_

Silus abruptly lowered the radio, letting it clatter to the ground, and the boy lunged at it with a loud, "Hey!" yelp. The Centurion moved toward his seat, which had not been disturbed, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he settled back down. Now the slow-moving caravaneers were packing and moving quickly to avoid the rain, and most slid their chairs or bedrolls under the tarps covering half of the large campsite. Silus was by the fire, however, and let the rain patter down on him as he stared into the flames.

Another dust storm. They always came in groups, the disturbance of nature stirring up other disturbances and arguing it out until their energy was spent. He knew he couldn't make it back to the Fort passing Camp Golf anyway, but Vulpes had been on a mission in the area east of Vegas and now Silus wondered if his "comrade" was also hunkered down in a slovenly casino somewhere to avoid the storm. The wind and dust would fizzle out long before Nellis or the Fort, but if Silus could make it back to Caesar without running into any busybody Frumentarii he might stand a chance.

A chance of what? He didn't even know. Just like his earlier refusal of pre-War food, and his earlier familiarity with technology, Silus was blundering the image of a devout Legionary Centurion. If the lack of logic was a problem he blatantly ignored it in his thoughts, instead wondering how he would best survive the trip back to the Fort. How he could convince Caesar that this girl had worth enough to match his own life.

Now Silus had two pieces of good information, the first being the doctor's nonverbal confirmation of what had only been a suspicion.... _the girl was known and powerful_. The second piece of information was the direction of the dust storm.

He briefly questioned where they were all coming from, and remembered the haunted woman's voice deep within the radio waves. Silus's drifting thoughts were halted when he saw the blond emerge from the tent. His sharp eyes followed her as she walked, painfully, but with more strength than earlier. When she got a cigarette and moved to the camp's edge to smoke, he moved his gaze to the large pack sitting in the cold stream nearby. The rain hadn't let up, but it hadn't picked up either--it was acceptable to travel back to his own camp and men.

Had the nosy doctor not been within earshot he would have joked about making her carry his pack, but Silus just wanted to leave the camp without having to fight the urge to wring someone’s neck more than he already was. Controlling his sadistic, murderous rage was not a skill he had to flex often. He strapped the heavy canvas on his back and strode one final time through the tables and tents full of junk, reaching her even as she approached him. He raised an eyebrow at her clothing choice but still said nothing, happy at least to see color returning to her cheeks and a lack of oozing blood from her wound.

_"Heard you carried me in all angry and barkin' orders. How romantic."_

He grunted in response. 

" _You didn't have to do this. Bring me here, I mean. Could've left me, maybe you should've left me. Yet, you didn't_." His mouth opened, then closed--she was still talking, and he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Instead he blinked.

_"And I ain't gonna ask why, cause I don't care. But if it means anything, thanks. So…. when can we get the fuck out of here It smells like brahmin shit."_

Fair enough. "Now," he stated simply, bracing his pack and sticking his thumbs under the straps as he walked, to adjust it. "Keep your weapon out," he advised, eyeing the dark road ahead of them. "More geckos out when it rains."

* * *

FINCH

The rain was a small relief in the heat, but it also bore a heavy, humid air that was almost just as unbearable. Another storm would swallow them whole. She idly wondered if they would even make it back to his dogs? Why was she eager to leave the temporary safety of this caravan? Was it for her own safety, or theirs?

Perhaps her decision to tell the annoying doctor to fuck off was a well-disguised mercy. One she is even surprised she made. However, the thought of others taking a fall for her hiccup could jeopardize her position. If there was ever a chance to escape this hellish situation on her own, she figured it would probably only serve to make her look even more daunting with her small stature in her line of work.

Quietly, she followed the centurion in the rain, bat in tow. Her knuckles were white as she gripped it for dear life. She itched to use it, wanted something to jump scare her and test her patience. The nightmare she had still fresh in her mind. This may not be a similar setting, but the elements of it were still close. It left a pit of dread in her belly as they walked. Oddly enough, the dread was not directly caused by the centurion's presence. Quite the opposite, his presence was refreshing. The revelation both aggravated and confused the blonde. It made her realize he wasn't just witty insults, marauding, and pillaging. There was this hidden intelligence behind it all; perhaps there was a modicum of compassion still left within him, too.

Instead of wasting any energy she may have on any talking with the tall man, she turned all her focus on generously nursing a large water bottle, the doctor insisted she take before leaving, the entire way back to the camp. As they approached the area of the small, dilapidated settlement, it was clear his men used their time wisely. A couple of the tiny, salvageable houses were cleared up and reinforced to stay (mostly) dry and out of the wind's path. The blonde said nothing as she was herded into one of the small structures. Finch made it a point to room with the centurion, for fear of her well-being. However they were not alone (odd to be annoyed by this factor), a couple of the legionaries joined, the Decanus and the young moron who yanked her bag from her shoulders before.

As she walked past him trying to get to the farthest corner, she spotted her bag next to his bedroll. Without even questioning her next moves she marched to it and snatched it and all the things he had laid out next to it that were hers. The repercussion of her reclaiming her things went exactly as she hoped, the young dog reached out and grabbed her by her wrists barking at her to drop it. Her own things, he commanded her to drop. The irony. She replied to his kind gesture with leaning back briefly, with a wicked smile, and then crashed the crown of her head against the helmetless man's forehead, knocking him out cold. The Decanus quickly turned in their direction to approach her, but stopped after two steps. The two shared heated glares, the bat she still had was gripped tightly in her palm.

"I wanted what was mine back. Problem?" She stated plainly. The older legionary seemed to hesitate, unsure of his next move or maybe he was weighing his options since his commanding officer paid the whole situation no mind at all. "Stay in your corner dog, and I'll stay in mine as long as you don't touch my things."

"At this pace, not even the Centurion will be able to keep you from harm." He sneered and turned back to what he was focused on before. Once satisfied the other man wouldn't stab her in the back, she made her way to the corner she was heading for before the commotion. She threw up her hood and pulled her coat in tight around her, attempting to cozy up into the wall in a position that gave her the chance to rise quickly if need be.

The only noise in the room was the rustling of the legionaries, before there was a click of a radio being turned on and that static and flicker of the channels changing. Everything that came through the storm still had white noise distorting it, but the calm voice on one channel seemed to be the clearest. Even as the eerie advertisement repeated, the woman's melancholic tone lulled her to sleep. No dreams would plague this time, and for that she was silently grateful.

* * *

SILUS

Silus never did shake the feeling that something was wrong, even when they entered camp and he breathed a barely-audible snort of relief at seeing that the rest of his men hadn't been maimed or killed. But then, he did not see over the nearby ridge, where the Frumentarii sat, boarded up in a radio tower.

He began the comforting task of delegating the food and supplies to the men and barking orders in a tired monotone. Silus donned his plumed helmet once they entered the camp's circle, mostly to make his presence known and remind his men to whom they were loyal, though this was hardly needed. All the while, his watchful eye fell on the blond and her territorial display. Though no one could see it through the heavy shadows on the helm, his mouth turned into a rare, amused smile when she head-butted the officer. Silus said nothing, but turned away dismissively when another decanus looked toward him questioningly.

The food and drink brought comfort, as did the leader's return. Silus insisted on first watch, and his men settled into the crook of the red rock as he again took over a radio and expertly tuned it to the same disturbing channel as before. Electronics in the Legion may have been frowned on, but no one questioned Silus. Several men even listened, intrigued, at the melancholy song and its repetitive broadcast. Soon it seemed he could not find another station even when trying, and though the rumbles of thunder continued around him, his icy green stare found no trace of another dust storm.

* * *

VULPES

Vulpes was not pleased about the area he was in, nor was he pleased when earlier, he'd reported to Caesar that the lone century was indeed Silus. It was better for Silus that he had perished with the others than disobey Caesar. And though it had come as a surprise to the other men, Vulpes knew this storm, so to speak, had been brewing for years. Silus was not foolish enough to be openly defiant, but his disquiet was written in the sneer across his face. And it had been there for a decade at least.

In Latin, the scribe confirmed the order from the Legion camp's radio tower.

"We are to eliminate the group."

Vulpes lowered the binoculars he was peering through and turned slowly, masking his shock. "Kill them?" Even when surprised, his voice was still a syrupy, faux-unsure hiss. He blinked blond eyelashes, his colorless eyes shining in the dim light.

"Yes, sir. Caesar wants them dead." Even the younger Legionary sounded baffled, but that was becoming par for the course with Caesar's orders after Graham was thrown to his death. Vulpes stared into the darkness, turning back toward the oddly-hued window, which had a thin layer of dust-storm-muck over it. It cast a reddish shadow over his sharp features.

He oddly wished the Malpais Legate was around. Although he was unaware that Silus shared the same sentiment, Vulpes found himself reminded of Colorado and the three tornados that spat up entire camps of slaves and dwellings and tents and farmland.

"Shall I prepare to ambush?" a more eager Frumentarius barked, standing and wielding his rifle arrogantly. Vulpes's mouth barely twisted into a formation of a scowl, but before words would form, a loud peal of thunder and a quake shook the sky and rattled the windows.


	2. The Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After surviving infected gut wounds, a dust storm, and a bitchy doctor, Silus ponders how to leverage his way back to the Legion. Vulpes makes a choice. 
> 
> There's a casino, almost with a mind of its own, that has other plans for Silus and his captive Bishop. Those plans include one of Silus's favorite fashion accessories.

The radio's frequency was interrupted by a shrill sound, and Silus's sharp ears picked up radio interference from--he couldn't believe it--the voice of a supermutant. He stood, shouldering the shotgun, and stared rather dumbly at the radio. It was deep, growly...it was...arguing with itself? Where was this transmission coming from?

Gunfire startled him and he turned swiftly, eye down the barrel but there was nothing there. Another ricochet, and the strangest thing yet--Silus saw Vulpes's bare head emerge from the rock formations possibly a hundred feet away. He gave a defensive gesture, pulling his thumb across his neck and pointing downward aggressively, taking those two precious distracted seconds to tell Silus to _get the fuck down or he was going to be killed_. The Centurion sidestepped just as a bullet dinged off his power armor pauldron, startling him.

His scowl grew nasty but as he opened his mouth to shout to his men, the thickening red descended upon them. Silus didn't even hear the barrage of gunshots—audio shifted to frantic, angry shouts, and a roaring sound. He felt as though he were choking, gasping for breath, and behind him the radio interference grew. The roaring growls of the super mutant were now close, closer, and Silus could not even inform his chaotic group what was to befall them before he collapsed on the dirt.

Finch's bladder was about to explode when she rose up from her cozy corner. Drool dried on her face, she was absolutely in the deepest sleep she has been in for a few months. However that didn't stop the water she inhaled to work through her system. 

She clumsily stumbled to the entryway of the bathroom, only to stop when it seemed everything was buzzing with violence all at once. There heavily shuffling over the loud, inhuman screeching of radio. Before she could turn around, the back of her head was struck with a heavy blunt object, making her vision flash white before she fell forward. "Shit--" was all she could mutter over the chaos

No nightmares, nor dreams plagued her sleep this time either.

* * *

He awoke with a start, and found himself light and comfortable--that wasn't good. 

He was in the dark, but Silus ran both palms down his torso. His armor was gone. He tapped his heels against the ground. He had boots on, at least. He felt sore, as though he'd been dragged over rocks. He probably had, because Silus could distinctly hear the roaring of a loud storm somewhere above him, but the echo and sound told him that he was inside a dwelling, probably underground.

He moved to sit up and look around, but he paused again at a voice issuing from a crackling CB radio nearby. Was it on a table? What was this place?

"YOU WAKE UP NOW. TIME TO GO TO THE BOSS'S HOUSE. DOG ALWAYS GOOD FOR MASTER, MASTER WILL BE PLEASED. NEW MEAT. BUT IT’S BOSS, REMEMBER, NEW MASTER IS BOSS."

Silus tried to stand, and then found that he was sitting on slippery concrete.

"WAKE UP HUMANSSSS," it said in an antagonizing manner, and without warning bright lights flooded the tiny room. Silus stared mutely at one of his men, Felix, who lay in a heap across from them. Another Legionary was crumpled in a corner, but he was missing a head. Silus pulled back abruptly, and failed to notice there was another figure in the shadows, similarly startled.

"Marcellus?" Silus guessed, looking at the bits of skull and hair peppered around the body. To the mutant hiding behind the CB radio, he said in a near growl, "What the hell did you do?" It looked as though an explosive were implanted in the man’s skull. 

"BAD COLLAR, WENT OFF AT WRONG TIME. DOG HANDS TOO BIG TO FIX TINY THINGS. YOU GO NOW." 

Silus nodded at Felix, telling him silently to comply. But....bad collar?

The radio went silent, and Silus very faintly heard footsteps stomping away from what was indeed a side door in this strange, small electrical-housing building or shed, whatever it was. He rose tentatively, staring at the corpse of one of his men. Before Silus could react, Felix bolted for the large main door. A frantic, too-familiar beeping sounded, and Silus looked around, spotting the black box above the door.

"Felix, get away from the---"

The young man's head exploded, splashing Silus with fresh crimson blood, and after pursing his lips, he drawled out, "....door."

He considered moving toward the twitching body, but instead looked around. There were no other exits, minus the one the mutant was now instructing them to use. But in the fluorescent light, Silus caught his reflection in a putrid puddle of stagnant water, and he stared, horrified.

So it was. A slave collar was around his neck. His eyes shot back to the corpses of his men, and a gingerly laid hand went to touch the cold metal device. No fucking way.

His stare of complete shock carried as he turned and caught the gaze of the girl, who had been the other spectator all along. For once, he had no words.

* * *

FINCH

_"YOU WAKE UP NOW. TIME TO GO TO THE BOSS'S HOUSE. DOG ALWAYS GOOD FOR MASTER, MASTER WILL BE PLEASED. NEW MEAT. BUT IT’S BOSS, REMEMBER, NEW MASTER IS BOSS."_

The sheer volume of the loud mutant had caused the woman to jump awake nearly out of her own skin. "WAKE UP HUMANSSSSS," the bright lights that suddenly filled the room also scared her senseless, it made her eyes ache or maybe they already ached 

As the seconds ticked by she became increasingly aware of how absolutely heavy her limbs felt and the pain that shot through her body with the smallest movement. And there was a device? Around her neck? It made it extraordinarily hard to swallow in fear or even breathe normally.

The blonde's head turned to the centurion listening to the exchange between him and the mutant on the radio. Her eyes fell to the meaty remains of his comrade on the ground, but before she could utter any words or even a breath another legionary stood and made a run for it only to be greeted with death. A shallow, shaky breath left her lips as she stared at the centurion, who was clearly shook at the situation.

"W-Wh-He has all our gear," her voice raspy from the lack of use and her dry lips cracked with the forming of words. "I dunno.. about you, heavy metal.. but I refuse to die here." Finch scanned the room they were in finally seeing the side door the mutant screamed about. Slowly, she stood to her full height, her joints cracking and straining against her movements. There was only one camera in a dark corner that may be how they were being watched, she gingerly stepped closer to the side door as she eyed the camera.

"This door?" The woman spoke softly, using most of her energy on ignoring her pain, she pointed so the camera could see. They couldn't just take the collars off, that much was clear. At least not here under the mutant's watchful eye. For now, they would have to cooperate if they were to get out of this mess alive and with most of their limbs.

"YES, WEAK HUMAN, STOP MAKING BOSS WAIT, YOU GO NOW."

It hollered over the static of the radio. Finch took a deep breath and slowly moved closer to the door listening intently to any beeping the collar might make. Her hands slipped over the doorknob, a chill rushing over her body, something was telling her this was not gonna be an easy walk home.

"Quit dickin' around Silus, we have to get out of here." When the door opened, red clouds began to permeate inside of the room and caused them to wheeze and cough at the lack of oxygen. As it quickly began to settle, the sky looked red and hazy. The villa before her almost looked haunted, cursed in the haze of the red cloud. Whatever hope and bravado she may have had in escaping this place, her fears became her reality.

She had no fucking idea where they were and what to expect next.


End file.
